The rain came without warning.
It began as a low hiss over the rooftops of the merchant quarter—then thickened, then roared. Water poured from a sky that had no business holding so much. Streets became rivers in minutes. Cellars flooded. The already broken city groaned under the sudden weight.
Elias woke to the sound of rushing water against the cellar door.
He sat up fast—heart hammering—only to find Elara already on her feet, palms pressed to the stone wall, eyes wide.
"It's not natural," she said. "It's him."
Leviathan.
The primordial stirred inside her—deep, restless, hungry.
Elara's voice dropped to a whisper. "He's… asking."
Elias looked toward the pallet where Lucian still lay—unmoving, fever unbroken. Then at Behemoth, who had risen silently, stone skin glistening as water seeped under the doorframe. Liora crouched near the entrance, shadows fighting to hold back the rising tide.
"Asking what?" Elias asked.
Elara swallowed. "To drown them. The northern citadel. The last Church holdouts. He says… it's time."
Abaddon spoke inside Elias—calm, certain.
He feels me. They all do. The tide wants to rise. Let it.
Elias stood.
"No."
Elara turned to him—sharp. "You heard what the scouts said. They're regrouping. They're planning another wave—more inquisitors, more holy fire. If we wait—"
"We don't drown a city to stop them," Elias cut in. "Not yet."
Elara's hands clenched. Water dripped from her fingertips—uncontrolled now.
"You stopped him once," she said quietly. "In the cathedral. You stopped Abaddon from ending everything. But you can't stop this forever. Leviathan isn't asking for permission. He's telling me what he's going to do."
Outside, the rain intensified—hammering the streets, filling gutters, rising toward windowsills.
People screamed in the distance—panic spreading faster than the flood.
Behemoth rumbled. "Water rises. Stone holds. But stone cannot swim forever."
Liora's shadows rippled. "Let it happen. The Church deserves it. They burned villages. Let the tide take the last of them."
Elias looked at Lucian—still, pale, helpless.
Then back at Elara.
"Tell him no," Elias said.
Elara stared at him—long, hard.
"I don't control him anymore," she answered. "I never really did. I just… rode the current."
She closed her eyes.
The cellar door buckled inward.
Water surged through the gap—black, cold, alive.
Elara staggered as though struck.
Her eyes flashed—deep ocean-green, pupils gone.
When she spoke again, her voice carried the weight of abyssal pressure.
The time for mercy is over.
She raised both arms.
Outside, the rain became a deluge.
The river that had once run tame through Sanctum's eastern district rose—swelling, boiling, black as oil. It poured through streets, through gates, through broken walls—straight toward the northern citadel where the last loyalists huddled behind makeshift barricades.
Screams rose—higher, desperate.
Elias moved without thinking.
He stepped in front of Elara—between her and the door.
Black flames erupted from his palms—cold, immediate—meeting the incoming tide.
Flame and water hissed where they touched.
Steam exploded outward—thick, blinding.
Elara's eyes narrowed. "Move."
"No."
The black flames pushed harder—forming a wall across the doorway, holding the water at bay.
Elara's voice deepened—Leviathan's voice now, layered over hers.
You delay the inevitable, World-Eater. The tide will rise. The city will drown. The Church will be cleansed.
Abaddon answered through Elias—deeper, older.
Not without my word.
The cellar shook.
Water pressed against the black-flame barrier—higher, stronger.
Elara's body trembled—fighting the primordial inside her even as she channeled it.
"Eli—" Her real voice broke through—small, frightened. "I can't… hold him…"
Elias gritted his teeth.
The sigil on his chest burned—black veins flaring, golden cracks answering in painful counterpoint.
He reached out—placed one hand on Elara's shoulder.
Black flame flowed from him into her—cold, steady, commanding.
Leviathan snarled inside her—deep, furious.
But the tide outside faltered.
The black water slowed—receded—pulled back street by street, inch by inch.
Elara gasped—eyes flashing back to normal.
The rain slackened.
The streets began to drain.
Silence returned—broken only by distant, fading cries.
Elara collapsed to her knees—water pooling harmlessly around her.
Elias dropped beside her—breathing hard.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I couldn't—"
"You did," Elias said. "You fought him. That's enough."
Behemoth stepped forward—placed one massive hand on Elara's back—steady, grounding.
Liora watched from the corner—shadows quiet.
From the pallet, Lucian stirred.
A single word—barely audible.
"Stop…"
His eyes opened—hazel, exhausted, but clear.
He looked at Elias.
"Don't… let it end like this."
Elias met his gaze.
"I won't."
Outside, the sky remained wrong—too dark at the center, too pale at the edges.
But the city still stood.
For one more night.
Abaddon's voice—soft, almost proud.
You leash the tide. You leash me. How long do you think you can keep holding?
Elias looked at the boy on the pallet.
At Elara, shaking but alive.
At the others—scarred, tired, still here.
"As long as it takes," he answered.
The rain stopped.
The world held its breath.
And somewhere far above, the indifferent eye narrowed slightly.
Intrigued.
For now.
End of Chapter 27